The Time Traveler

This weekend Anthony was the time traveler. He went back about 150 years and joined the Confederate States of America Army of Tennessee. They were in Blountville, Tennessee, which is a beautiful, very old town. After a little research, Tony found out that his great great grandfather had done Civil War battle time in this town, not with the same Division Anthonywas with, but it was on the same street.

This was all very new to us. Anthony and I had met a few Divisions when we were at Cumberland Gap in the Spring and after talking with them, we decided this was the group that would be the best fit for Anthony. Our dilemma? He's 15. We (Tony and I) are not joining the CSA reenactment scene. And Anthony is. Not us. Him. Alone. He's 15. And they stay the whole weekend. And he's ONLY 15.

Tony took him on Friday night and since I was the only one who had met this group at Cumberland Gap, it was his turn to size them up. He is a great judge of character, much better than I seem to be of late. Once he met them, he came to the same conclusion as I, and decided to leave him in the encampment. Instead of driving the two hours home, though, he got a hotel room so that he would be close in case Anthony needed him. He would decide on Saturday if he could come home on Saturday night or if he needed to stay in the hotel again. Needless to say, Anthony was in a good group and had a great experience. Tony watched the demonstrations on Saturday and the battle on Saturday afternoon, then came on home. After all, he is 15.

Here is his tent. He had a tent all to himself. All modern supplies have to be out of sight, so he covered his cooler with a burlap sack. The cooler full of drinks was a must since it was in the 90's and their uniform pants and jacket are wool.

Tony and I returned on Sunday morning. We got there just in time to attend the church service. The chaplain preached the service just as if it was the morning before a battle and prayed for the soldiers' wisdom and safety. He talked about the "oppressive, ungodly federals," and he also preached about facilitating the meeting between the union soldiers and their Creator. It brought quite a few chuckles.

During breaks, the soldiers had to fill rolls of paper with gunpowder. During battle, they tore the end of the paper roll off with their teeth, poured the powder in the barrell of the gun, and fired. It made a very realistic sound but since there was no ball, all it provided was the sound. Below, Anthony is preparing his gunpowder for battle. He went through about 30 shots per battle.

This is the town of Blountville. Most of the buildings on this street are the same ones that were standing there 150 years ago. The same buildings Tony's great great grandfather walked between.

This one has had some very influential guests...

These are pictures from the battle on Sunday afternoon.

Anthony in the heat of the battle.

Before the battle, it is decided who will win and who will die. Usually the Union will win one day and the Confederates will win the next. This weekend, though, the Union won both days. Sometimes, their death was so realistic that it fooled me. On one in particular, the gentleman fell and was holding his eye. Several of his men went to check on him while he was writhing on the road in pain. I was sure that his gun had malfunctioned and left him with an eyefull of gunpowder, but no, he was just a very good reenactor. After the battle is over, someone declares that the soldiers can "resurrect", and miraculously they all get up. Ready to go to the next battle.

While I know this is all an act, I can't help but fast forward my life several years. Several days ago, Anthony and I were discussing his high school friends and the fact that they were getting jobs. This conversation lead to other conversations,which lead to the "real jobs" conversation. The jobs after high school and after college. What he told me I will never forget. He said he couldn't imagine why anyone would want a job that "wasn't serving our country." So while he is only 15, I am haunted by the fact that he is already 15. Three more years. Then, this may be my reality.